welcome to my life
by azure skies6070
Summary: after enduring a painful death of his parents, draco is pushed into a world of darkness. meanwhile hermione is fighting her own demons and will they find solace in each other?


_A flash of green light zipped past Draco. The words "avada kedavra" slipping from the serpentine lips of Voldemort that they were barely even uttered. A distinct thud was echoed in the quiet of the forest. An evil satisfaction etched on the dark lord's face. _

_Draco stood there, everything happened too quickly to believe. _

"_Now my boy, it is your turn" Voldemort raised his wand towards Draco. "You are a failure just like your father; therefore you are of no use to me." The killing curse was spoken and the green light erupted from his wand once more_

Draco bolted upright on his familiar Victorian four poster bed, his body covered in cold sweat making his night clothes stick to his skin. He grimaced disgustedly. The hollowness in his mind had that horrid dream again. It was the same dream every night, but it never ceased to frighten him. His parent's death was something he just can't seem to get over. How could he anyway?

He needs a cold shower again.

Hermione Granger is a happy woman. She most definitely is. Only 6 months ago, the golden trio declared the tremendous victory over the darkest wizard of all time. She was declared the war heroine, Harry Potter's biggest ally and Ron Weasely's girlfriend. She is to be the celebrated VIP for the rest of her life. Fame, happiness, love and success are guaranteed to happen to her.

Only that is what everyone thought. Beneath all of the glitter filled life that she is believed to be living, there was a glum place where the sun never rose. It was dark and the air in it smelled of hopelessness. She longed for the time when she could find comfort in a blink of an eye. Now it seemed as if comfort was like water in the driest Atacama Desert. She has lost her parents who were killed in London while on their move to Australia. The wounds dug deep right into her soul cutting it in half. She needs solace, a natural healer; time. Time to move on from everything and make a fresh start in life, but she couldn't leave her loved ones alone….

The Weasely family are neck deep in sorrow as well. After the tragic death of Fred and Ginny in this war, the light has left them. The Burrow's walls no longer contained the hustle and bustle of Weasely adolescents, or their happy screams or the smell of Molly's cooking. It has become a reflection of the war. Guilt and Depression ran deep in their veins. Everyone feels out of time, everyone feels defeated in front of this clandestine reality.

"Hermione?" a tall figure stood at the doorway of her room (actually Ginny's room before they both shared during last year summer holidays). "Yes?" she squinted and rubbed her eyes then her vision became clear. It was George. That was first time he ever called her Hermione. "Do you mind if I slept here tonight?" she glanced at Ginny's bed opposite hers and gave him a weak smile "of course"

He slowly walked towards the bed; a smell of pine hit her as he walked past. The old bed creaked and sagged under him. Within minutes he was asleep, his eyes firmly shut hiding pools of the bluest blue irises she has ever seen. She used to wonder a lot about George's deteriorating mental condition, but now she could clearly see it opposite her. She could imagine how it must've felt like to lose a twin, but she knew she could never understand George's severe loss. She often used to watch him, walking alone at the foot of Alton hills at the back of the Burrow. He appeared to be talking as if to an imaginary friend.

He was sleeping peacefully now, his chest falling and rising rhythmically to his breath. Under the flimsy night clothes he wore she could how much he was physically torn. His once strong abdomen muscles which were a result of relentless Quidditch playing now lay merely as cover to his protruding bones.

Around the middle of night, she awoke to screaming. He was also a victim of terrible nightmares. She threw back her covers and rushed to his bedside. She tried to shake him awake and yelled over his cacophony of hysterical screams. "George!" he broke out and looked at her, tears streaming down his cheeks. His sweat streaked face was illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the window. Without thinking he threw his arms around her and cried. She gasped, but held him close. He kept saying "They killed him…..they…took him to…" he looked up at her and asked "did you see them? They went that way…." His voice trailed away. She comforted him whispered soothing words and running her fingers through his silky, red hair. He was panting for air. That was her life.

Sorrows kept erupting as if it was an active volcano. Arthur busied himself in his work, Bill moved to Romania with Fleur to work with Charlie, Percy now lives in London, Ron….well Ron was just a shadow of himself. He became completely withdrawn. He shut himself up in his room and refused to let anyone in and Harry was even worse. He defeated Voldemort no doubt, but the grief of Ginny's death defeated him. She died in his arms, whispering that she loves him so much. She often found him curled up on his bed, lost in distance.

Molly was also distant. She was a great cook, now even simple things seem extremely hard for her. She frequently burns the food; she runs to the stairs and calls Ginny for breakfast. She yells at Fred to stop or else. Her cries are gone unheard and then she would hang her head in realisation and walks back to the kitchen. Hermione tried to talk to Molly upon Arthur's request, but the woman would just drift into a distant state. With her fallen spirit, the Burrow died.

Well how is it? Please let me know. Constructive criticism is always welcome.


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